Rules of Engagement
by Morgan72uk
Summary: Gibbs is about to be reminded why it is a very bad idea to cross a red head. Jibbs
1. Chapter 1

Title: Rules of Engagement

Author: Morgan72uk

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I definitely shouldn't be doing this... sorry.

A/N - so I wrote this a while ago and Elflordsmistress insisted that I post it before the season finale in case - well, she insisted.

**Part 1**

"There's been talk." Jen Shepard paused in the act of packing away her papers and gazed across the conference room at the Secretary of the Navy. She'd been picking up on his odd mood throughout the meeting, had expected him to raise a difficult subject. It seemed he'd waited until the end to do so and now he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"About?" She queried lightly, not overly concerned - yet.

"Your relationship with Agent Gibbs." For a moment she was genuinely floored, couldn't think what he meant.

"I haven't killed him and hidden his body, if that's what you're worried about." She didn't add there were times when she was sorely tempted.

"People say you're too close to him,"

"Do 'people' have a specific concern?"

"They wonder if you can be objective about him, because of your personal relationship."

"He was my partner," she responded coolly, refusing to acknowledge any other possible interpretation of his remark. "He's a damn good agent."

"He angers other agencies and you protect him."

"He gets results."

"You're relationship with him makes you vulnerable to suggestions of impropriety."

"I went to bat with the FBI for Agent Cain last week – am I supposed to be sleeping with him as well? Or is it just Gibbs?" He squirmed under her unflinching glare – not questioning her interpretation of what the poison poured into his ear had really been about.

"You're a single woman, attractive – there are rumours about your social life. If you were seeing someone suitable…" It would be wrong to eviscerate the Secretary of the Navy she reminded herself, there were rules about that. It would also be wrong to point out that she worked ridiculous hours, which scarcely left her time for a relationship – with someone suitable or not. She took a breath, assessing his mood, calculating what she could do to end this.

"What do you want me to tell you?" They'd known each other for years, she'd thought he trusted her judgement. But he was a politician and she knew that he would act to minimise his own exposure to damage and censure – if it came to that.

"I suppose I want you to reassure me that you and Agent Gibbs are not involved, won't be involved."

"No," she said firmly, "I'm not prepared to discuss my relationships in this context – not unless there is some actual evidence of my judgement being impaired, or of some impropriety?"

He sighed and she knew that he had been expecting her to react like this - and that he had nothing, other than rumours. He'd been married for over thirty years – his personal life was squeaky clean – there was no way he could possibly understand how she felt. "You've worked so hard to get here, Jenny. All I'm doing is warning you; if something happens, I won't be able to protect you."

"I'm not asking for your protection – I don't require it and my private life is just that…private."

"You're being naïve. I'm surprised you're reacting like this, unless there is really something going on between you?" She was far too wise to fall for that, her only response was to raise an eyebrow and wait him out. "My wife wanted me to invite you to dinner, her nephew is in town – he's a cardiologist and…"

"I'm very busy at the moment," she closed her briefcase with a snap. "Some other time perhaps. But please thank Colleen for the invitation." There was no way that her boss' wife was arranging a blind date for her – she wasn't a charity case. She had a suspicion that Colleen would prefer it if she was safely involved with someone – so she wouldn't have to worry what her husband and his younger, female subordinate got up to behind closed doors. But she wasn't interested in reassuring the paranoid wives of men she had no interest in.

"At least think about what I've said – and, be careful." She nodded, appreciating the warning but knowing he had washed his hands of the situation. If something blew up she would take the flak and he would be able to say that he had warned her of the consequences. She was on her own and Gibbs would probably say that was when she worked best.

She seethed all the way back to the Navy Yard. Not sure if she was angry with Sec Nav for raising the issue, with Gibbs for exposing her to scrutiny in the first place or herself for not giving the denial that would have put this whole situation to rest.

She could have given it easily – whatever was between them was in the past – mostly. And she knew that it was a bad idea to get involved with one of her own agents – even if other people seemed to think she didn't. And anyway, he'd never forgiven her leaving and for having dared to be successful without him.

So she could have given SecNav the reassurance – but she hadn't - because it was insulting that he required it and because the criticism that she gave Gibbs preferential treatment had stung. If she was drawn into his cases more than those of other agents it was because of the kind of cases his team picked up – high profile and complicated.

He was a brilliant investigator but a lousy politician and she shuddered to think about the damage he could do to relationships with other agencies without her to manage the fall out. But she had enemies of her own – and they were circling now – exploiting SecNav's nervousness, using her past with Gibbs to undermine her. Well, they were going to have to do a lot better than this.

She was calmer when she got back to her office, but not in the best of moods with the men who surrounded her. She'd been considering adding a female agent to her personal detail for a while now and she made a mental note to have Cynthia look into it – as a matter of priority. At least having a female Director seemed to have encouraged increased applications from women wanting to join NCIS. The building she walked around was far less male dominated than it had been when she'd returned three years ago. And that had been a huge improvement to the male female ratio of the agency she had joined as a junior agent.

She could still remember the expression of distrust on Jethro's face when she had been assigned to his team. He hadn't been at all happy about having to train a probie and a female probie at that; she'd had to work so hard to prove herself to him – McGee and DiNozzo didn't know they were born.

But, she wasn't Gibbs' probie agent any longer – she was the Director and she needed to concentrate on the messages and paperwork that had accumulated in her absence – and hope that for once Gibbs had managed to stay out of trouble.

* * *

"Need your help with a warrant." He hadn't knocked, of course – he never knocked, preferring to just barge into her office. And he wasn't making a request either. But this was how they worked and he saw no reason to change an approach that meant he usually got what he wanted. She looked up from the file she was reading and held out her hand for the paper he was waving around.

"What does Agent Lee say?" He'd expected this as well – he found her reliance on the judgement of the legal probie irritating.

"Haven't spoken to her, I came straight to you, Director."

"Without even stopping to knock," she flipped through the file – giving him an opportunity to observe her. There was something; he narrowed his eyes, looking more closely; taking in the way she was drumming her nails on the desk, the twist of her mouth. He knew her very well, though sometimes it was easier not to acknowledge that, and he recognised her irritation. Although he was fairly sure he wasn't to blame this time.

"Who's gotten on your nerves?"

"Apart from you?"

"Jen?" She dropped the papers he'd given her onto the desk and looked up at him.

"I'll make a couple of calls."

"That wasn't what I was asking." Strong emotion flickered in her eyes, almost making him smirk – because he knew how passionate she was, what it took her to maintain an icy and controlled exterior. Whatever it was had disappeared in less time than it took him to blink and he spared a fleeting moment of sympathy for whoever had pissed her off.

"Sec Nav is concerned that I'm not objective when it comes to you, he thinks my judgement might be compromised and he'd like to me to confirm that I have no plans to sleep with you." He winced, wondering if he should check if the man was suddenly speaking a couple of octaves higher.

"Do I get a say in this?"

"This isn't a joke Jethro," she got up and turned to face the windows looking out over the yard. "It's damn insulting that he doesn't trust me." He wasn't surprised she was mad as hell – she hated having her judgement questioned.

"What did you tell him?"

"To mind his own business – unless he actually had some evidence." Well, that was interesting.

"You shouldn't let it get to you, the man's an idiot. Just tell him what he wants to hear and forget about it."

"No," her voice was low – but determined.

"It's not as though it's going to happen," with the mystery of her mood solved his mind was already on the warrant and the case. So he didn't really think about the way that must have sounded.

"It's the principle." He shrugged, forgetting for the moment all the times when he had flouted authority to get to the truth. Certainly not making the connection between his ability to raise the hackles of those he came into contact with and the questions that had been raised about her.

"Sounds like it's just going to annoy you, don't you have enough to do?"

"When I need your advice Jethro, I'll ask for it." She turned away from the windows and slid back into her chair.

"My warrant?"

"I'll let you know when I have something."

She watched him leave; the anger that she had so carefully controlled bubbling back to the surface. So, she should just let it go? If something bothered him, he got obsessive and trampled down anything in his path. If someone criticised him he insulted them, fought back – but, she should just forget about this? Because it was not going to happen?

Well, she'd see about that.

Gibbs and Sec Nav had no clue who they were dealing with. Had no idea what she could do when she put her mind to it and she had decided to put her mind to it.

She reached for her cell phone and found the number she was looking for, as she dialled it a decidedly evil smile crossed her lips. "Colleen? Jenny Shepard. I was talking to your husband earlier and he said something about dinner? No, well – my plans have changed – I'd love to. Tomorrow? Perfect. I'll see you then."

A cardiologist wasn't a bad place to start she decided – she could use the practice.

"Cynthia," she pressed the intercom to speak to her assistant, "can you see if you can make me a couple of hours space in my diary? And then book me a hairdressers appointment?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - thanks for the reviews. At this stage I feel as though I should point out that this isn't an entirely serious piece of fan fiction... I know you probably realise that but I just wanted to acknowledge that this might not be the most thoughtful, well observed character study I've ever come up with. And, while I am sure Jen wouldn't actually behave like this - I think she deserves to have a little fun - and torture a couple of people into the bargain.

**Part 2**

Later, Gibbs would wonder if what he'd said had provoked her somehow. He would ask himself if maybe he should have phrased his response a little more carefully, perhaps reminded her that she had been the one who had made the rules, who had asserted that there would be no outside the office between them. Maybe he should have checked that she hadn't changed her mind before being quite so dismissive.

But, he'd done none of those things and by the time he realised his mistake it was far too late and all hell had pretty much broken lose. Which was no doubt what she had intended.

The first indication he had that something was wrong was a couple of days later when he arrived in the bullpen to find all of his team, including Abby, pouring over a newspaper. "She looks amazing," Abby was saying.

"She does," DiNozzo's tone was dreamy – the one he usually reserved for discussing the covers of his magazines. And Ziva supplied the slap that Gibs would have delivered – had he been in range.

"Nobody got any work to do?" He rounded the corner, not missing their startled expressions as he appeared.

"Sorry boss man," Abby smiled, "we were just looking at the Director's picture." She shifted far enough for him to see what had been absorbing them and for a moment he froze, because the paper was open at a picture of Jen on the arm of a very prominent Senator – and she did look beautiful.

That was just the start – despite his dislike of politicians he would have been prepared to accept her dating one, wouldn't have been surprised at it anyway. But the Senator was gone in a fortnight and after him had come in quick succession, a well-known news anchor, a surgeon and an investment banker. She'd been through at least 4 men in the last 8 weeks. Currently the papers were reporting her romance with a well-known movie Director – who was apparently filming in DC and had met her at some benefit or other, but who knew how long that would last.

The press was extremely well informed about her movements – always seeming to find her leaving restaurants or functions. He thought it likely that she was tipping them off – though he'd yet to find any actual proof. In the meantime the whole agency, hell the whole of DC watched and waited. And he'd be lying if he said it wasn't starting to get to him.

He wasn't doing a great job of hiding his response from the team – every picture, every mention in the gossip columns just fuelled the fire and by now even DiNozzo had realised that drawing his attention to the press coverage was a very bad idea.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop thinking about the men, wondering what she was trying to prove – other than that she could have anyone she chose.

Of course he considered the fact that she was deliberately baiting him, trying to make him react. But she was staying out of his way, keeping the conversations they did have strictly professional and giving no indication that she cared what he thought about how she spent her free time. And he did care. He cared a lot – he just hadn't figured out what he was going to do about it.

* * *

"The blue or the black?" The voice of the Director of NCIS drifted across the office and the two women sitting at her desk, one in her chair the other perched on the desk itself exchanged looks.

"Black," Abby said decisively and Ziva David rolled her eyes at the predictable response.

"I like the blue," she offered.

"I thought you two wanted to help." Jen Shepard appeared in the doorway of her private bathroom wearing what Ziva knew to be very expensive underwear that had likely come all the way from Paris.

"We are helping," Abby said – shrugging in response to Jen's raised eyebrow, "sort of."

"It depends what effect you are trying to achieve," Ziva suggested, "the blue dress is subtle – but sexy. The black dress is…"

"Devastating," Abby put in. "Are you planning to be devastating, Director?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Ziva didn't know what was going on – although she had her suspicions. She was enjoying watching Tony drool, McGee blush and Gibbs hyperventilate over every picture, every mention in the gossip columns of their Director's assault on DC's most eligible men; knowing that they were all fascinated – in spite of themselves.

She was full of admiration for the way her former partner was playing this game, though she hoped that Jenny was going to stop before she actually gave Gibbs a heart attack. But until she called a halt, or until he decided to make a move Ziva was prepared to watch from the sidelines. It was an impressive display and, though she'd seen Jen at her most seductive when undercover missions had demanded it, she'd never seen her like this.

In fact, in all the years they'd known each other the older woman had been both discrete and selective in her sexual relationships. Ziva thought that she probably knew the reason for that – but it was an explanation she was keeping to herself.

She was a little surprised that Abby was joining in so readily, especially since Jen was set on torturing Gibbs – but she'd given up trying to figure out what went on in Abby's head.

The door banging open startled her, but not as much as the sight of the Director of NCIS undressed startled Gibbs. He came to a stop so fast that DiNozzo crashed into his back and Jen had whirled around and was out of sight before Tony had a chance to recognise what he'd just missed.

"Something I can help you with Agent Gibbs?" Her voice floated out from the bathroom and Ziva saw the muscle in his jaw clench at the amusement in her tone.

"Yeah – thought you might give me the rest of my team back?"

"Help yourself," she emerged fully dressed, though buttoning up her shirt. "I was just asking their opinion on my dress for tonight." She gestured to the door where both dresses were hanging.

"That important?"

Ziva stifled a smile as Jen didn't even bat an eye at his venomous tone. Abby had already vacated the chair and was hovering by the door, looking ready to bolt back to the relative safety of her lab and Tony still had a slightly glazed look in his eyes.

"Did you make a decision Director?" she enquired, pushing herself to her feet and not missing the amusement in the look Jen directed her way.

"I'm not sure, what do you think Agent Gibbs?" For a moment Ziva thought he actually considered answering her question. Certainly it seemed they all waited, to see what his response would be. His eyes certainly ran over both dresses and though you couldn't quite tell what they did for their owner by seeing them on the hanger, Ziva had a feeling that Gibbs would work it out.

"Neither," he said tersely – summoning his team with a quick gesture. None of them were brave enough to defy him.

* * *

He supposed it might serve him right for walking into her office without knocking – but that wasn't really helping him right now. The case might have been sufficient distraction – but they were in that awkward phase where they'd collected the evidence, conducted the interviews and were waiting for the forensics or the autopsy to give them something. Ducky had already sent him on his way once, Abby had told him as gently as she could that even genius took time – and, without either of them co-operating he was back at his desk trying not to think about the sight of Jen wearing not very much.

Trying and failing.

Pale skin that he'd once known every inch of, curves he'd worshipped, a body he'd been extremely possessive of. It turned out he still hated the way that other men looked at her - a piece of information she had been very aware of in the past and now might be exploiting. Although he still didn't entirely understand her motives – was not sure it was really about him.

If he'd been more certain he might have been prepared to do or say something – but the evidence was inconclusive. For all he knew she might have decided that she wanted a husband and was running through a list of likely candidates until she found what she was looking for. He sucked in a breath – not liking that thought at all.

It was Tony who caught the movement on the cat walk above them, whose low whistle of approval drew his attention. Even though he wasn't sure he wanted to look, somehow he couldn't stop himself. The dress was electric blue, swirling around her knees, moving with her body. It was elegant and sophisticated – something about its colour on her making her seem more distant, a little icier.

He knew very well that it was the sort of dress that could easily make a man curious about whether she was actually distant and icy, could persuade him to work hard to find out. He learnt long ago that in the right circumstances Jen was not remotely icy or distant and he cursed the knowledge even as he followed her progress to the lift and persuaded himself that going in there after her would be a very bad idea.

"Boss," the interruption was a welcome one and for a very brief moment McGee was his favourite person in the world, "Abby's found something."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - thanks for the reviews!

**Part 3**

The Secretary of the Navy hadn't got to where he was today without knowing how to pick his battles, when to keep fighting and when to call it quits. Looking across his office at the woman sitting in the armchair – sleek, elegant, her body language relaxed, her expression confident – he knew she had won, that she knew it as well and that the best he could hope for was that she accepted his surrender gracefully.

He should have realised it would come to this two months ago when she'd persuaded his wife's nephew to drive her home after dinner – despite her security detail. He'd seen the man the next day – he had two ex-wives and was by no means an innocent when it came to women, but he'd still been looking a little dazed. And that was just the start of it.

He couldn't accuse her of dereliction of duty. She'd done her job, more than done her job these past weeks and there was no question of her embarrassing the agency either. There had been speculation, lots of photographs of her out and about with a dizzying array of men - but not one whiff of scandal. As if that wasn't enough two of his closest friends were clamouring for her phone number, couldn't understand why he wasn't arranging for them to meet her.

"The last time we talked, I might have given you the impression that I was concerned about your private life." He began, knowing that the sooner he started, the sooner it would be over. "I regret that, it was wrong of me."

If she smiled or laughed in his face their professional relationship would be in tatters – and he couldn't afford that. She was damn good at her job, among other things.

"I understand your concern," she responded – her voice completely level, with not as much as a hint of triumph. "But I think you can see now that you have nothing to worry about." He wasn't going to go that far, what the woman could do if she put her mind to it was going to be giving him nightmares for a long time. He really should have played closer attention to her record, found out more about the counter intelligence missions she'd run with Mossad, what they might have involved. "I have no intention of allowing my personal life to in any way damage the agency, any investigations or intelligence."

He nodded, grateful for the reassurance – wary though, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She didn't keep him waiting long, "so – there is no need for you to be concerned about who I might be sleeping with." The hint of a challenge had crept into her voice and he wouldn't have dared argue with her.

"No reason at all." She nodded and got up from the seat – her movements lithe and supple. He was only human and perhaps she hadn't caught the way his eyes lingered a second too long on her legs.

She paused at the door, looking back towards him, "so I can see whomever I chose – as long as I make sure there is no fall out?" He narrowed his eyes, suddenly understanding what, or rather who, this had really all been about. A second later the realisation dawned that she had given him an out – that she was telling him that she would accept the consequences of her choices – if she got caught.

"You can see whomever you chose," he agreed. Breathing a huge sigh of relief as she nodded and slipped out of the office – leaving only the scent of expensive perfume behind her.

His hand hovered over the phone, thinking that perhaps he owed Agent Gibbs a warning about what was about to descend on him. But the moment of male solidarity disappeared quickly when he realised that Gibbs had started this whole mess by getting into trouble so often. Added to that he really didn't want to be on the wrong side of the woman who had just left his office. He was staying right out of this; the poor bastard deserved all he got.

* * *

She ought to have savoured her victory – but as battles went she knew that her struggle with Sec Nav had been a skirmish, not by any means the main event. Her victory in this other, greater struggle was far less certain because, apart from anything else, her opponent didn't seem inclined to fight back.

She made her detail stop at a coffee shop – not ready yet to return to her office and all that waited there. They weren't thrilled by the detour – but compared to what she'd been putting them through lately it was a small problem, easily overcome by one of them accompanying her.

People looked at her as she waited in line for her coffee, she could see the glances exchanged, the whispered comments and wasn't sure that it was because of the large man in a dark suit at her shoulder, or because they recognised her from the gossip columns.

She caught sight of her reflection in the glass of the windows and wondered what they thought of her, those people who only knew her from what they read about her. Did they think she was too old to be behaving like this? She could certainly see their point, was starting to feel that way herself; asking herself if this was some kind of mid-life crisis.

Perhaps she had been hoping that somewhere along the way she would fall in love, but of course that hadn't happened. The men she'd chosen to pursue these last few weeks were arrogant; they'd used her just as she'd used them. Though perhaps they wouldn't describe what had passed between them in those terms. And anyway she'd never been interested in men who wanted a trophy – had never wanted one for herself. Which wasn't to say that they hadn't been good company, that she hadn't enjoyed herself. Perhaps not so much a mid-life crisis as a delayed adolescence, running wild in a way she'd never done as a teenager.

There had been nice men as well, over the years. But she'd sent them on their way, knowing that it wouldn't be fair to damage them, never doubting that she would.

Perhaps she should have paid more attention to the fact that it had been Gibbs who had goaded her into this little display. Because it always came down to Jethro in the end – no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise and she had tried.

At least he hadn't been oblivious to her behaviour – that would have destroyed whatever boost to her ego all the male attention had given her. She remembered his expression when he'd walked into her office to find she was in her underwear – dazed and then angry. Angry was good – as long as it was the right kind of anger, the type of anger she could work with. But dazed was better – dazed meant she might still be able to get under his skin, if that was what she wanted.

She accepted her coffee from a college-aged barrista and took a sip – strategizing already. She'd have to be certain before opening her campaign and once started she'd have to play the game out to the end, fight the battle until there was victory or surrender.

A change of tactics might be called for as well, because the one thing she was certain of was that when it came to Gibbs nothing was ever easy. But perhaps that was what she been looking for after all – a challenge, a worthy opponent.

Sec Nav was going to kill her.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 4**

He hated the tux – hated that it was a symbol of being on protection duty, but on the other hand he'd refused to assign this task to any other team. At least now all that remained was clean-up duty.

The diplomats, politicians, the great and the not so good had enjoyed themselves, as far as he'd been able to tell. Though, in truth his attention hadn't strayed too far from the woman who'd put together the event in what he still thought was bewildering speed. But he'd learnt the hard way not to underestimate her.

Unfortunately he wasn't the only person who'd spent the evening with his eyes glued to her - though he was one of the few who had a legitimate reason for watching her every move. She'd been the centre of attention from the moment she'd walked down the spiral staircase and into the party.

It was DiNozzo who'd classified the dress she was wearing as a walking incitement to crime and although the remark had earned him a head slap it was certainly an accurate description.

Other women were wearing dresses that revealed far more flesh, amidst a dazzling array of colours her black gown might have seemed sombre, dowdy. But that wasn't the case because it was the architecture of the dress that summoned the attention and the same architecture meant that once captured it was very difficult to look away.

The corseting did – things to her figure, things he'd spent most of the evening trying not to notice; which probably separated him from every other man present. The dress wasn't excessively low cut, or short, it didn't have a split that bordered on an affront to decency – it just made the most of her curves. And he knew from direct experience that the curves in question were spectacular.

If he'd been her lover he wasn't sure he'd have let her out of the house looking like that. But, he was just in charge of security for the evening and no one had bothered to ask him.

The concert pianist she'd brought as her date hadn't strayed far from her side all evening. They'd been seen together a few times now, often enough that people were beginning to wonder if he was going to be a permanent fixture. Gibbs was busy trying to convince himself that he didn't care either way.

With most of the guests gone he'd sent his team home and retreated to the small room they'd been using as a control centre, hoping for a few moments to himself. The soft click of the door told him that it had been a very few moments, but when he looked up to see who had disturbed him he sucked in a breath at the sight of Jen leaning against the door, watching him.

"Shouldn't you have left with the piano player?" She shrugged as he pretended not to be aware that the man in question regularly played with some of the world's finest orchestras and had sold a few million cds.

"He has an early rehearsal tomorrow and I thought I should check in, make sure everything was OK."

"Nothing to see here," the whole evening had gone without a hitch – he hated co-ordinating security arrangements across organisations, but then he hadn't had to do the bulk of the work. "And did you get what you wanted from the evening Director?" She smiled in acknowledgment, both of them aware that she had a very good reason for organising this event, positioning the agency to benefit from budgetary decisions in the coming months – playing politics, again.

"It's a little early to tell – but I am cautiously optimistic," she responded as she crossed the room to perch on the edge of the desk. "Our friends in Homeland Security co-operated?"

"Seems that way." She nodded, rubbing a hand along her neck as though it was tense, drawing his attention to the elegant twist of her hair and the few curls that had escaped its confines. "Tired?" He asked, biting back a comment about all the late hours she must have been keeping recently.

"A little," she pulled one pin out of her hair, then another and as he watched, spellbound, her hair slipped out of the twist and cascaded across her shoulders. "It's been a long day." His fingertips itched to feel the soft weight for himself and only rigid self-control stopped him from succumbing to the urge. "Does Abby have any new theories about the Jackson case?" She asked the question as though they were having a conversation in her office. It took him a moment to draw his attention away from the creamy skin of her shoulders, to remember that she was talking about a case they had picked up some weeks ago – that they'd run out of leads on.

"Nothing new," he told her, watching through narrowed eyes as she causally pulled one of her earrings off.

The scuttlebutt that evening had been that the jewels she was wearing were real – a gift from the movie director. Personally he hoped that the sapphires were paste, or that she had inherited them from an aunt or grandmother.

He was mesmerised by the way she turned the jewel in small circles on the desk, hardly listening to her theorise about the Jackson case. Her every move was so fractionally seductive he couldn't be sure if she was doing it on purpose, or if she was completely unaware of her effect on him. Until she moistened her lips, looked up at him from under her eyelashes and his body decided it didn't care why she was doing what she was doing. He reached for her wrist, stopping the movement,

"What's going on Jen?"

"I was wondering if you were going to ask me that. Do you remember a conversation we had a couple of months ago?"

"I don't remember everything we talk about," he snapped, irritated as much by her lack of a direct response as by what she was doing to him.

"Believe me, I'm very aware of that." She smiled knowingly as she tugged her wrist gently out of his grasp. "I think you might recall this conversation – it was the one about Sec Nav being concerned that our past means I am not entirely, objective about you."

"So?" he responded, refusing to concede that he not only remembered the conversation but also regretting not having paid more attention at the time. "He worried again?"

"No, actually he apologised, he's decided that it's none of his business who I am involved with." He wasn't surprised that she'd forced the concession out of Sec Nav. But the spurt of anger overrode the slow burn of desire in his stomach because as much as he thought he understood what she was telling him, he didn't like being part of her games.

"I'm a little beneath your recent standards aren't I?" He snarled, pushing himself to his feet and stalking across the room.

"Jethro,"

"Forget it. It's none of my business who you sleep with Jen, hasn't been for a while. Let's keep it that way shall we?" He'd stormed out before she could say anything more – a dramatic exit that was somewhat undermined when in the elevator down to the ground floor he realised that he'd left his cell phone on the desk.

He didn't go back for it straight away. Over a bourbon in the hotel bar he tried to weigh up whether he actually needed it and having reluctantly concluded that he did, whether he could send someone else to collect it. He regretted having sent his team home – because of course it was a perfect task for DiNozzo. He thought about ringing him from a courtesy phone, before it occurred to him that perhaps even his loyal Saint Bernard might question such a task. And it really wasn't the phone that was the problem; it was the woman – it was this woman in particular.

She got to him. It was annoying, inconvenient but an incontrovertible fact. The evidence all pointed to it, and he was used to following the evidence. Only the two of them had seemed unable to read the signs, failed to follow the clues. But their mutual blindness had been a protection only as long as it was mutual. The tacit agreement that the past was best left dead and buried couldn't protect them once it had been broken.

But had she been the one to break it? She'd certainly taunted and teased him over the last few months, let him try to pretend he was immune when it must be blindingly obvious that he wasn't. He'd veered between anger and jealousy as she'd lived her life in the public eye; wanting, but not prepared to claim what could be on offer.

And despite all of that when she'd lain her cards on the table, albeit in her own unique fashion - he'd walked away. Though he hadn't actually gone far and could always go back.

After all the weighing up of his options it was something of an anti-climax to return to the control room and find it empty apart from a couple of techs busy dismantling the equipment.

There was no sign of his cell phone, or of the Director – but the sapphire earring was lying in the middle of the desk where she'd left it. A challenge, if he chose to see it that way - which of course he did.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - thanks for the reviews. It's been fun!

**Part 5**

Her detail was still in the hotel, which should have reassured him that she hadn't gone far, but for her habit of slipping out on them. "Where is she?" he asked – not bothering to hide his irritation.

"The Director's decided to stay here tonight – the hotel management offered her the use of a suite." Of course they had, they were probably hoping she was going to be sharing it with someone well known. "She said she thought you might be looking for your cell phone?"

He was surprised when the agent held out his cell. He'd been almost certain that Jen would have held onto it until he turned up to collect it in person. He slipped it into his pocket, where it rested alongside the earring he'd picked up – maybe she wasn't in the mood for games.

She was leaning against the doorway of the suite when the elevator door opened - of course Melvin had phoned to inform her she was about to have a visitor.

"Agent Gibbs," she greeted coolly.

"Director," given her high profile at the moment and the way the lift attendant was watching them, his eyes wide with curiosity, Gibbs decided it would be best if they didn't give any reason for gossip. He stepped out into the hallway, waiting for the elevator doors to close behind him – destroying any further opportunity for eavesdropping.

"You left this," he held out the earring to her and he tried not to notice the tingle that spread through him when her fingertips touched his hand.

"I'm having a drink," she said, gesturing towards the suite, "want to join me?"

The living room was spectacular; the minimalist décor austere yet elegant – the management were obviously keen to stay on her good side. But he gave the surroundings only a cursory glance – concentrating far more on the woman before him, knowing he had to make up his mind about what he really wanted from her.

"No games," he said – making his terms clear.

"No games," she agreed.

He stepped close – trailing his fingers over the bare skin of her shoulders. He felt her shiver, saw the hand that poured the bourbon shake. "Wouldn't want you to spill that," he said taking the bottle out of her hand and then brushing his lips to her shoulder.

When he looked up he could see their reflection in the floor to ceiling windows, which undoubtedly provided a stunning view across the city. But it was far better to see the way her eyes closed, the way she bit her lip as he resumed his slow exploration of her back and shoulders. He knew he was using previous knowledge against her – that she had always been ridiculously sensitive there and apparently she still was.

"Jethro," her voice was low and breathy as she reached back to caress his neck. He pulled her closer, one hand sliding over the boning of the corset at her waist. He held her gaze for a moment and then let his hand slide up from her waist, his fingers brushing over her breast. The sound that escaped her – somewhere between a gasp and a moan made him smile.

She turned in his arms, pressing her lips to a spot on his jaw that made him growl, a reminder that he wasn't the only one who could use prior knowledge to their advantage.

And still they hadn't kissed. He liked the slow drawing out of the moment, liked letting the anticipation build. Earlier he'd watched her unfasten her hair and had wanted to touch it – now he pushed his hands into it, wrapping the length around his hands and pulling her head back gently – kissing her throat, letting his teeth graze her skin.

She made that sound again and when he looked up her eyes had darkened and he decided that the anticipation had built enough.

Hand still in her hair, he drew her to him, she stretched towards him and their lips met in a slow kiss, tentative at first that grew more urgent with every passing second and only ended when his need for oxygen threatened to overpower him. And he only lasted for as long as it took to catch his breath before he pulled her back into him and slammed his mouth into hers.

"Come and see the bedroom," she pulled away and took his hand – tugging him after her, but only managing a few steps before he caught her up again, kissing her so that they tumbled into the bedroom far too absorbed in each other to appreciate the decor. His hands ran up and down her back, then over her sides – trying to find the fastening for the dress, frustrated when his investigations came up with nothing.

"Don't you like the dress?"

"I'd like it better if I could figure out how to take it off,"

"It has laces," she said – as though that explained everything, "you unfasten them and the dress comes off."

"You have to be kidding?" She shook her head, her eyes twinkling with what he recognised as mischief.

"They laced me into it earlier," he decided he didn't want to enquire too closely into who 'they' were. "Don't worry, Jethro – you just need to find right part to untie – or," her fingertips brushed against the pocket of his pants, "there's always rule number 9." The effect of her touching him like that was so strong for a moment he couldn't remember which rule that was.

* * *

Her dress lay in a pool of fabric on the ground, the knife he had used to cut the laces beside it, blade glinting in the subdued light.

Sheets shifted around their hips as she moved smoothly on him, enjoying the surge of power as he arched beneath her, loving having him at her mercy. His fingers dug into her hips, directing her movements, urging her on. She knew him, knew him like this, was certain that the moment would come when he wouldn't be able to stand it any longer, when he'd need to take control – and she wanted that, needed that.

"Jen," his voice was a hoarse whisper and she understood what it signalled. She wasn't surprised when he pushed himself up to a sitting position, pressed his lips to the skin of her throat and then tumbled her back onto the pillows, covering her body, wrapping one hand around her wrists and holding them above their heads.

Surrender had never been so rewarding.

They pulsed together, he slowed his movements and she looked up at him, seeing the fierce need in his expression, knowing it was the result of the last few months when he'd tried so hard not to care what she was doing and who she was doing it with. This was why she'd decided to stay here tonight – so that if he came to her he wouldn't be wondering who she'd shared her bed with lately – other from him.

"Let me touch you," she whispered. He released her hands at once and she stroked one along his back, stretching to press her lips against his as she fumbled to find his hand. "So good," she murmured when the kiss ended, "don't stop."

But they were close; all the signals were there - the coiling tension spreading through her muscles, his movements becoming increasingly frantic. She arched her head back into the pillows and let her eyes drift shut until the rasp of his mouth against her skin made her open them again. She thought it might be her name, but couldn't tell at first and then she knew, it was definitely her name, over and over – the emotion in his voice tearing at her.

"No more games," she repeated what he'd asked of her earlier, "look at me Jethro, I promise – no more games."

* * *

The low hiss of the shower woke her and she stretched, the expensive sheets sliding against her sensitised skin. She hadn't slept for long and it wasn't exactly a surprise that Gibbs wasn't still in bed – but a shower seemed to indicate that he might be planning to leave and she wasn't sure that was what she had in mind.

His openness had got to her, the intimacy drawn a promise from her. She turned over, pulling a pillow to her the way she might a lover, knowing that she hadn't intended the encounter to leave her this emotionally exposed but wondering now how she had expected to avoid it.

She was honest enough to admit that in the last few months there had been a lot of sex, though perhaps not as much as people imagined, but precious little intimacy. Until now. She'd meant what she said to him – but wasn't sure about his response, he wasn't much for talking after all. And actions spoke louder than words.

She heard the water turn off and the sound of the bathroom door opening. As warm, fragrant air billowed out into the room, she closed her eyes. If he was going to leave it might be easier for both of them if she pretended to be asleep. She hoped he wasn't going to look too closely, because the stiffness of her back was probably a dead give-away that she wasn't actually sleeping.

The bed dipped with his weight and she felt the faint breeze as he slid the sheet away from her. His skin was still damp from the shower and it was all she could do not to shiver when his hand curved over her hip and then stroked along her thigh, up and down. She would have had to be made of marble not to respond and no one had ever accused her of that.

"Did I wake you?" he asked as she turned towards him. She shook her head, not ready to talk yet. Instead she watched him as he concentrated on the task of touching her – his expression the one he usually reserved for boats and the finer details of cases. She ran her hand over his shoulders – tracing some droplets of water that remained from his shower, enjoying his absorption in her.

Her silence was bothering him – making him wonder if he'd done or not done something. He'd needed a few moments to himself after the intensity of being with her, knew he couldn't stay unless he believed what she'd said. And whatever she'd done, he knew she hadn't been playing games. It was far more complicated and far less deliberate than that.

He knew her, knew she wouldn't have made the promise easily. He'd been optimistic when Melvin had returned his cell phone, but still he'd needed to hear it from her. Now that he had, he wanted to let her know that he understood.

As soon as the water had washed over him he'd realised that he hadn't really needed the time, that he already knew what he wanted and that was to be back in that oversized bed, with her. And here they were – touching each other slowly, sensually as though they had all the time in the world to enjoy this.

He traced the muscles of her calf, wrapped his fingers around her ankle and then trailed them up her leg. She shifted against him; her hands still at his shoulders as he bent to press a kiss to the inside of her knee.

His open mouthed kisses covered her stomach, followed by a stream of cold air that made goose bumps rise on her skin and her fingers dig into the bed clothes. He liked seeing her lose control – wanted to be the only person who ever got to see her this way.

"Tell me what you want," her hand pushed against his shoulders, her demand clear. But he wanted her to say it, wanted her to tell him – thought they both needed to hear it. "Jen," he brushed a kiss to her hip, moving his hands along her thigh, "tell me," he demanded.

"I want you," her voice broke and she moaned as his mouth dipped lower, "oh God, Jethro please."

* * *

"If we're going to do this, there are going to have to be rules."

"If?" He glanced up and down her naked body as she lay stretched out beside him – the bed was a disaster; they were sharing a pillow and neither of them was fully covered by the remaining sheets. It was a little late for 'if'.

"There are going to have to be rules," she repeated.

"I'm good with rules," he pointed out.

"Good at breaking them."

"Hey," he sucked in a breath as she stroked a hand over his ribs, "I use rules as a teaching method – remember?"

"Never screw your partner?" she offered slyly, knowing he'd react.

"You keep getting that one wrong and you're not my partner, you're my boss, remember?"

"And, 'never screw the boss', isn't one of your rules?" He chose not to respond to that, at least not with words and it was a few minutes later that she remembered what they had been talking about – but by then she wasn't sure she cared.

The End - except for a very short epilogue


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - thanks, it's been fun!

**Epilogue**

The Secretary of the Navy was enjoying a quiet breakfast. He'd reviewed his schedule for the day, knew how long he had before his car came to collect him. Realistically there was every chance that his schedule would be substantially reworked over the course of the day – it generally was. But, still he enjoyed this moment, when he could eat his breakfast and pretend that he was in control.

The crossword was challenging today and he was thinking about a particularly fiendish clue as he flicked through the rest of the paper. But when he turned a page and came face to face with a photograph of the Director of NCIS his peaceful morning was abruptly derailed.

Sighing he forced himself to read the short article that accompanied the image, bracing himself for the worse. She'd been quiet in recent weeks, noticeably absent from the gossip columns and while he knew that should have prepared him for, something – still, he'd foolishly allowed himself to hope that the peace would ask. He should have known he wouldn't be that lucky.

The photograph had been taken the previous evening as she left an Embassy reception. The article made a great deal of the fact that she'd arrived at the event alone and left the same way and there was a distinct sense of disappointment that she hadn't been accompanied by someone equally high-profile.

Suspiciously he narrowed his eyes and took a closer look at the photograph. Her security detail was very evident and she was looking in their direction, smiling slightly – presumably at the cameras. Or perhaps not.

With a sinking feeling he recognised one of the faces in the crown around her. The profile was familiar and even though the image was slightly blurred, he could feel the power of a glare that was famous in certain circles. A second look at the photograph convinced him that it was that glare which was making the Director smile.

Her expression coupled with his proximity could only mean one thing.

The Secretary of the Navy pushed the paper away and, glancing down at his breakfast, pushed that away as well. Suddenly he wasn't feeling hungry anymore.

The End


End file.
